Of the Phoenix and the Ash
by daphrose
Summary: Anger, fear, and despair: all he had left. He would scream into the night air, because he had nothing now. Nothing. All he had was a power that he never wanted in the first place. A power that had taken her away from him. / "Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but it is lightning that does the work." - Mark Twain / (Voltage fic)


**SkyVolt-a-Rooney was great. While the dialogue and effects for Voltage were pretty cheesy and so-so (what do you expect from a show within a show?), the plot was brilliant. I loved the passing-the-torch moment with Garrison and Tess, and I knew I had to write about it. After all, now Garrison has this crazy power and is entrusted with it right as his best friend dies. Pretty heavy stuff. Ready to see my thoughts on what happened after that scene?**

 **Warnings for suicidal thoughts and a character death you already know about. Also, I'm not saying whether Garrison's thought processes here are right or wrong; use your own moral discernment please. Tread with care.**

 **Reviews are appreciated but not required. Apologies for any grammar mistakes; I literally wrote this whole thing in the last hour. I don't own Liv and Maddie, Voltage, SkyVolt, or any of the other characters. Enjoy.**

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 *** * * Of the Phoenix and the Ash * * ***

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And so our hero stands.

Hero. Bah. Like he could be called a hero. He had been the companion on so many heroic adventures, but he had never been a hero. He could not be hero. It was not in his nature.

Then again, it had never been in hers.

He stood on the top of the clocktower. In the distance the thunder rumbled. Flashes lit up the sky miles away, over emptiness, over nothingness.

He knew the eyes that looked over the city—his eyes—glowed. Power. She'd told him about the power, and he never understood. He never understood why she was so afraid. Now. . . .

Now.

Now he understood.

This kind of power, it surges through you. It eats you alive, and you can do nothing but sit back and let it consume you. As soon as you fight, it begins to kill. It can kill. It wants to kill. You can hold your ground and stay alive as long as you remain submissive, as long as you cooperate. He wanted to fight. Everything in him wanted to fight. He didn't deserve the power.

But the power didn't care.

Last time he tried to fight it, he nearly killed himself.

Scratch that, he nearly killed the entire city.

Yeah, he wouldn't mind if he died, but he could not rest in peace if he took thousands of innocents out with him.

He regretted every moment he teased her for her fear. He understood now. He understood why she didn't want to be a hero. Neither did he.

So what would he be? He had power. He must do something with it.

He couldn't be a villain. He couldn't hurt others. Others who didn't deserve it, anyway.

So he would have to be hero.

Or he could be neither. He could stay locked up in the clocktower for the rest of life. He could fight against the power until it stopped his heart. He just might. He wanted to.

At least he would be with her.

The lightning flashed and thunder clapped almost immediately. Laughing at him. Mocking him. So close. So close.

"Kill me," he whispered. Then, "Kill me!"

He could jump. His feet were close enough to the edge. But that would defeat the purpose. If he had to die, he would die by the some force that ripped her from him. So he would either die from the power inside him or the power outside, but there needed to be a strike.

There needed to be a jolt.

No, he would not be a hero. He could not be. He had too much anger and too much fear. Heroes had anger, and fear—she certainly did—but not as much as him. The only ones as angry and afraid as himself were the villains, and he could not be one of those.

Could he?

No. No.

 _No._

Water collected under his lids. His chest quivered with the frantic breathing of a man trying to hold a thousand swirling emotions. He felt light-headed, but when he tried to calm down, to think clearly, he felt a surge go through his wrist and the panic began anew.

"Kill me!" he screamed at the sky. The lightning struck the tower across from him. He swore. Violently.

Too much anger. Too much fear. Too much regret. Too much despair. Too much . . . too much . . .

He had read the comic books, seen the movies. The ones who wanted revenge were villains. Heroes did good. They didn't seek revenge. The moment they did, they were deemed traitors of the light.

But . . . good people sought justice, didn't they? Who was to say that his cause wasn't justice? That avenging his friend was right and not wrong?

Zadoc was gone. Her sacrifice hadn't been enough. He had slipped away, alive. Injured, gravely injured, but alive. Enough. Just enough.

Revenge. He needed revenge for her. He needed answers. He _craved_ answers, and he would get them by whatever means necessary.

Whatever means.

Did that make him a villain?

If you want to save the world in the end, how many people is too many to hurt? What's one innocent life lost when you can save millions? Do the ends justify the means? He wanted to save the world from the power inside him. If he had to hurt some people along the way . . .

Did that make him a villain?

This thought process didn't scare him. He stood on the roof of the clocktower while lightning cracked into the world around him, and he didn't flinch at any of his thoughts. Many things scared him, but not these thoughts. They probably should have.

Did that make him a villain?

Something snapped in Garrison that night. Perhaps because of the emotional trials, perhaps because of his new power, or perhaps because of a combination of both. His best friend died in his arms. His arms now had the strength to kill. He could be good or bad.

He didn't want to be either.

Antihero, he thought the word was. One who did good, but not for the sake of good.

Perhaps one day he would find someone as gentle as Tess, someone who could break through the heart that had turned as cold as the ice in the cavern. Perhaps one day he could be turned back to the light. Perhaps one day he could learn to let go of his anger and fear and fight for the greater good.

But that day was not today.

The lightning struck him.

He felt the power surge, felt his heart seize up in his chest. He screamed, but not angry or scared. Exhilarated. Excited. Energized.

The lightning left his body and traveled back into the sky. He fell to his knees, coughing.

No, he was no hero. As much as Tess had been reluctant to be a hero, she had nothing on Garrison. He would not be a hero. Not that he refused to be one, but because he could not be. He could not fight for the same things Tess fought for. Tess was gone. He could not carry her burden, and he was unworthy to try.

The power leapt from his fingers to the roof and back.

Emotions had always been his weakness.

A powerful, emotional antihero.

Tess died in his arms. Zadoc got away. Garrison was the one out of every twelve thousand people who would be struck by lightning in a their lifetime. He was one out of every seven billion to have it living inside him, pulsing beside his blood, driving his every step.

He wanted to scream. Yell. Cry. He had no name for his feelings.

He knew now why people in movies always screamed at the emotional moments. There's nothing else to do. It feels as if something so heavy is sitting on your chest that you can't breathe. Your mind buzzes so you can't think. Your blood rushes through your ears so fast you think your head might explode, but you can't pay it any mind because your body is numb and your life is in pieces and it's all over anyway, so you wish your head _would_ explode.

There's nothing to do but scream. It's your only outlet. You're incapable of doing anything else; your mouth is the only thing that works when the rest of your body is locked-down in shock.

SkyVolt was his appellation now. _His_.

He could not carry it as she had. He was unworthy, and she was dead.

SkyVolt had a new face now, and a new purpose. A new drive. The true SkyVolt had died with Tess, but a new one would rise. No longer from ashes, but from sparks. The phoenix strangled itself before it rose, but still it flew. So he would fly.

An emotional antihero filled with a power he didn't understand, a power that wanted to kill him and everyone around him.

It had already killed the one he loved the most.

The Garrison that walked onto the roof was not the Garrison that walked down. Garrison was gone. He died with Tess. Out of the three, only SkyVolt had survived, but even SkyVolt had been remade. A strangled phoenix surrounded by sparks, but still flying.

His eyes glowed with power. He could keep it at bay. He could never learn to control it; he must let it control him. He found himself more and more content with that prospect every second. He didn't mind being controlled. It meant less chances for him to mess up. For his emotions to get in the way. Power must rule.

Power would rule, but emotions would drive. And it's an awfully strange drive you get when you mix anger, fear, and depression.

Add the power to that mix and you get only one acceptable word: deadly.

She had been reluctant to be a hero. He wouldn't even try. He didn't want anyone to get hurt, but who knew what means he would go to to keep that from happening?

SkyVolt had a new face. A new rule. A new drive.

Tess had died in the cavern, full of electricity. Garrison had died on the rooftop, full of lightning.

From the ashes, from the sparks, SkyVolt rose.


End file.
